


More trouble than they're worth

by grimtriumph



Category: The Outsiders - All Media Types, The Outsiders - S. E. Hinton
Genre: Friendship, Gen, Humor
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-20
Updated: 2015-06-20
Packaged: 2018-04-05 07:57:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,552
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4172013
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/grimtriumph/pseuds/grimtriumph
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>There isn't much you can say when being lectured about girls by Steve Randle. As described on page 35 of The Outsiders. Part II/II. One-shot. Rated T for language.</p>
            </blockquote>





	More trouble than they're worth

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: I do not own The Outsiders or any of these characters.

  
”What took you so long fetchin’ Johnnycake in there? Jed says the race is set for 7.”  
  
Soda’s voice sings through the parking lot as he bounces towards Steve with a finger tapping at an imaginary watch on his wrist.  
  
Ponyboy stands a few good strides away with Johnny, who’s idly kicking around a pebble and trying his best not to look at Steve.  
  
He knows how Steve can get when he’s worked up about something.   
  
“Ran into Sylvia goddamn Richards.” He gives a pointed look towards the diner’s general direction before lighting up.  
“Well that explains the sour look on your face.”  
Steve’s back endures a forceful right hand from his buddy.  
  
At any other time he would indulge his attempt to rile him up, but right now Steve Randle has a bottle blonde, red clawed chip on his shoulder.  
  
The only reaction Soda gets is him takin’ a drag from his cigarette and scuffing his sneaker against the pavement like it personally affronted him.  
  
”I guess group dates are off the table for a while, huh?”  
“Yeah, an’ I thought they were off the last time she went runnin’ around on Dal.”   
“Hell, Steve, you know how the two of ‘em are…”  
  
He knows. Soda knows. Two-Bit knows. Darry knows. Tim Shepard and his outfit know. And the list goes on.  
  
“You sure this ain’t about Sylvia tellin’ Evie you spend more time on your hair than you do showin’ her a good time?”  
  
Steve huffs and shakes his head in indignation. Soda grins and shoves his hands in the back pockets of his jeans, waiting for his buddy to throw out the punchline.  
  
You never really have to force it out of him, but sometimes, you do have to wait out the symptoms of his stubbornness.  
  
“Dally ain’t been locked up for a damn two weeks an’ the broad is already prowlin’ aroun’ like a vulture. She was tryin’ them tricks of hers on Johnny.”  
  
Steve never has found much use in not letting his annoyance show on his face, much less in his voice. It kicks up a few pitches and dances dangerously close to a full out Steve bark.  
And when Johnny jerks his head towards him, he knows he’s been heard.  
He’s glad.  
Johnny Cade doesn’t talk to girls much, but that doesn’t mean he’s going to be some chick’s patsy. Especially not a chick like Sylvia. Not if he has any say in it.   
  
“Told her if she tried anything again, I’d beat the tar out of her.”  
He takes a final puff from his Camel and chucks it off to the side.  
  
“Glory, Steve…”  
Soda rubs a hand on the back of his neck and gives Johnny a sheepish grin as he treads forward with Ponyboy trailing closely behind.  
  
”C’mon, man. She wasn’t tryin’ no tricks on me. She was just upset ‘bout Dal bein’ hauled off again an’ started talkin’.”  
Johnny looks a little hesitant to say anything more, but he’s staring right at Steve like he can will him to drop the matter.  
  
But the older greaser is having none of it.  
  
”That why she was leanin’ into you like she’s never had to stand on her own two damn legs before?”  
”I dunno, Steve. It wasn’t a big deal, or anything. I figure she’s just lonely is all.”  
  
Johnny Cade has always been benevolent. Soda has to smile.  
  
”Aw, Steve. It ain’t like Johnny here is used to shooin’ off the ladies like I am.”  
He winks at his best-friend, and flashes a grin at the two younger boys.   
  
“Yeah, like you shoo ‘em away, Sodapop,” Ponyboy cracks, as his brother smacks him on the arm good-naturedly. Steve gives a half-hearted snort then turns back to the matter at hand.  
  
“You don’t get what a sneakin’ little broad like Sylvia is capable of, Johnny. Lemme tell you...”  
He points a finger at the diner with purpose.  
  
The middle Curtis rests an arm on his kid brother’s shoulder and looks on in amusement.  
He knows this is quickly turning into one of Steve’s rants. He usually experiences them at length after his buddy has a fight with his dad or some wise ass claims that a Stingray has more pack for your punch than a Camaro.  
This is a little different though.   
  
“...Broads like her are trouble. You gotta be smart, kid. I reckon all them two-timers take a class on how to hook their claws into unsuspectin’ guys. See, one minute a chick’ll be talkin’ your ear off about how lonely she is or this an’ that...an’ how she needs a  _real_ man like you to fill the void in her soul or some shit. She makes you feel real tuff. Then she starts cozyin’ up to you. She’ll bat her lashes an’ run a scammin’ finger down your shoulder—leanin’ in so you don’t got room to look anywhere else but down that tight little shirt of hers...”  
  
Johnny eyes Ponyboy who’s eyeing Steve like he’s growing a third head.  
  
“...Hard to resist, ain’t it? You’ll find yourself buyin’ her a drink an lettin’ her hand move aroun’ on you ‘cause at this point your dick is takin’ over any brain activity you got left. It’s what broads like Sylvia are all bettin’ on...next thing you know you’re layin’ on top of her with your pants down your ankles when her greasy hood of a boyfriend comes after you with a crowbar.”  
  
Soda grins. “Ah, good ol’ Clint Nelson.”  
Steve flips out his lighter before finishing off his train of thought.    
   
“I reckon they figure havin’ some poor schmucks fight it out over them increases their value or somethin’ stupid like that.”   
  
“Haven’t you fought over Evie?”  
  
Let it not be said that Ponyboy Curtis isn’t a wise ass.    
  
“Glory, kid! Ain’t you been listenin’ in? They ain’t all like that. It ain’t the same. Evie don’t go sneakin’ aroun’ lookin’ for trouble to come her way. Sylvia Richards is always sneakin’ aroun’ lookin’ for trouble, whether Dally here’s or not. Hell, them broads are tryna get guys all worked up over them all the damn time. Suddenly, word around town is that you’re a louse in the sack an’ you got no balls. Or even worse, that you’re the one who had the nerve to interfere with her like she’s a goddamn innocent.”  
  
Steve scoffs in indignation.  
  
“And look, if broads like her don’t want guys fightin’ over them then they’re lookin’ for ways to keep ‘em trapped, and don’t you forget it, Johnny.”  
  
Steve gives him a pointed look before clapping a hand on his shoulder and continuing.  
  
“Pull out no matter how damn good you’re feelin’. An’ if ya ever find yourself in bed with a broad without a rubber, beat it outta there like a pack of socs are on you.”  
  
Steve grabs the cigarette he has tucked behind his ear, lights up, and takes a well earned puff.  
He tosses the pack to Johnny and watches as he does the same.  
  
Johnny has never been afraid of Steve, but the only reason he doesn’t move to make a sound now is because he doesn’t know what to say.  
  
There isn’t much you _can_ say when being lectured about girls by Steve Randle.   
  
“Well, Stevie, that was quite a speech. We shoulda recorded it so we could send it to Dally in the ol’ country club.”  
Soda smirks at his best-friends’ scowl.   
  
“Listen, Dally’s our good buddy, an’ his relations with Sylvia are his own damn business, but that don’t mean Johnny don’t deserve to hear it like it is. Especially when she’s tryna hang onto him the way she was.”  
Steve makes a move towards the car while the others fall into step.   
  
“Hmm, I guess it’s a good thing you got Steve here to tell you what’s what, huh, Johnnycake?” Soda chimes.  
“Damn right,” the older greaser answers as he grounds out his cigarette and swings open the driver’s seat.  
  
Johnny grins mildly and rubs a hand on the back of his neck.  
  
He doesn’t think there was ever a time he was more ready for a drag race than he is now, and shit, he’s been crazy about drag races since he was ten years old.  
  
But Ponyboy, well, Ponyboy is still thinking about a little footnote in Steve Randle’s lecture.   
  
“Did Dal really go after Clint Nelson with a crowbar when he found out about him an’ Sylvia?” The thirteen year old looks at him wide-eyed as Soda bites his lip to hold back a chuckle.   
  
“Kid, all I know is that dumb bastard couldn’t walk for a week after Dally got hold of him.”  
  
Ponyboy takes another drag of his cigarette as Soda throws an arm around him.  
Steve pauses in thought for a moment before turning back around to Johnny.  
  
“Don’t worry, Johnny.”  
  
He rests an elbow on the roof of his dad’s old Plymouth and turns around to face his friend.  
  
“I ain’t sayin’ Dal would ever do that to ya if it was you ‘stead of Nelson...not that it ever would be...but, kid, all I’m sayin’ is broads like Sylvia are more trouble than they’re worth.”  
  
Somehow, he knows Johnny won’t soon forget that.  


End file.
